


The Twelve Skating Princes

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: 31 in 31: NHL Fairy Tales [23]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 21:18:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "One morning, on going in to wake the princes, as was his habit, the king perceived that their skates had been skated into dullness."





	The Twelve Skating Princes

There was once upon a time a king, King Mario, who had twelve sons, every one of whom was talented at hockey, though none more so than the eldest. They all slept together in one very large room, and in the evening a guard was posted outside it so that no harm should come to the princes in the night.

One morning, on going in to wake the princes, as was his habit, the king perceived that their skates had been skated into dullness. But none of the princes would tell how it happened, none of the guards had seen anything, and none of the king’s advisors could determine what had occurred either. It happened the next night too, and the night after that, and soon their skates were dulled each and every morning, and none knew how. 

This mystery so vexed the king that at last he proclaimed a reward: anyone who should discover what was going on behind that closed door would receive the hand of one of the princes in marriage, and, one day, the kingdom. But if they should fail, at the expiry of three days, their lives would be forfeit.

Still, despite the harsh terms, many princes, princesses, and assorted heroes came to attempt the solution. Still, despite their confidence, none managed to find it.

One day it chanced that a poor Russian hockey player, forced into early retirement over a minor knee injury, came upon the road which led to the kingdom of Pittsburgh. He was trying to decide whether to take it when a French-Canadian man wandering down the road stopped to ask him why he was dithering.

“I think maybe I go to Pittsburgh, try to find out why princes have dull skates. Why you ask?”

“Huh,” said the man, looking him up and down. “You seem like a nice guy, so take my advice: don’t drink the wine, and pretend to be asleep when the princes come to check on you. Oh, and take this cloak, it’ll make you invisible.”

“What you want in return?” Evgeni asked, for in his experience help never came for free, or even cheap.

“Just treat him well,” the French-Canadian said, and continued on his way, leaving Evgeni and Pittsburgh behind.

When Evgeni arrived at the palace he was somewhat awestruck by the majesty of the place, and of King Mario, and of the princes. But he was treated well, clothed as a prince, fed a sumptuous meal, and led to a lovely chamber in which he could take some rest, if he wished. As he was about to bid the princes good-night, the eldest one hesitated, biting his lip before finally nodding and offering Evgeni a goblet of rich-smelling red wine.

“Thank you very much,” he said, trailing off questioningly, and the prince understood what he meant.

“Sidney,” he said, extending a hand.

“Evgeni,” responded the Russian, and kissed it.

The prince blushed and withdrew with his brothers. Evgeni dumped the wine out of the window and feigned sleep, just as the soul-patched man had told him to do. After a short time one of the princes returned, and crept quite close to his bed to be sure he slept; Evgeni let out a loud snore and rolled over, and the prince scurried out again.

Evgeni rose as swiftly and quietly as he could, covering himself with the cloak and following the prince down the hallways of the castle to the room where the princes slept.

“He’s asleep!” the blond announced, and, as one, the princes began to don their hockey equipment. “But, Sidney, I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

“It’s going to be fine, Olli, he’s asleep, nobody will find us out,” cut in a balding man, strapping on goalie pads.

“Nemo, I really don’t know how much longer we can justify doing this. It’s people’s lives at stake here,” Sidney said to him. “They’re nice people, they have families, and dreams, and some of them lived blameless lives before they made the mistake of coming here.”

“Sid, it’s your life at stake too,” said the smallest one, “and besides, I’m pretty sure most of them weren’t all that good or all that nice, either.”

Sidney sighed. “Well, we can go tonight at least,” he said, and knocked on his bedpost. The bed slid aside to reveal a set of moving stairs, which the princes calmly rode to the bottom as though they had done so a thousand times before. Evgeni followed gingerly, but when he reached the bottom he had to restrain himself from gasping. 

There before him, Evgeni saw a grove of trees glittering in the artificial light, and amidst the grove, a hockey rink, with nets and a crowd.

He realised two things quite suddenly: first, that twelve princes was exactly the right number to make two teams, if you didn’t mind stopping the game occasionally to wait for them to rest, and second, that the trees were made of solid silver, with bark of gold and leaves of emerald. He waited, choosing his moment, and broke off a small twig, the crack of the puck bouncing off the boards hiding the crack of the breaking tree.

Satisfied that he had evidence of the underground chamber, Evgeni began to watch the game, and was struck by their skill. But it was the eldest prince he found his eye drawn to again and again, and it was as he edged closer to the ice that he heard someone speak the prince’s name.

“Sidney is easy enough, if you know his weakness,” a small wrinkly man was saying. “If his team asks, there’s nothing he won’t do.”

“Then how did you get the rest of them to ask?” someone asked him.

“I cursed him,” the man said. “If they don’t come play for me, he dies, and the only way to break the curse is for him to be kissed by a hockey player - one he’s not related to, I mean.” 

Evgeni suspected that he himself counted as a hockey player, for he could not think of describing himself in any other way. He wondered if his kiss on the hand would qualify. Then again, there was no reason to take chances, if it was Sidney’s life that could be lost.

The game ended, and Evgeni had to rush to get back to the moving stairs first. Taking advantage of the princes’ need to remove their gear, he hurried back to bed to continue to feign sleep. He was out like a light before anyone even came to check on him.

The next morning, Evgeni considered telling what he had seen, but his desire to watch the princes play hockey again was too strong. Instead, he spent the day in conversation with various princes. They were understandably reticent on the topic of their nighttime adventures, but were happy to talk about themselves and happier still to talk about Sid. By the evening meal, Evgeni had talked to eleven of the princes - all except Sidney, who was conspicuously absent.

After the meal, Evgeni once again took wine from Sidney’s hand, once again did not drink, and once again wore the cloak and followed to their chamber.

“He’s a hockey player, you know,” one of the youngest princes said as Evgeni arrived.

“It’s too much of a coincidence, Guentz,” Sid said, “and the commissioner was probably lying anyway.”

“He did kiss you though,” said the weedier goalie.

“But I can’t actually test if it worked or not without dying, Muzz,” Sid pointed out, and down to the underground cavern they went, Evgeni trailing invisibly behind once again.

The next day, however, Evgeni could no longer stand to see the princes suffer so, for their love of the game of hockey was being slowly but surely sapped by their obligation to play it. He went straight to King Mario to tell the whole story.

“Where have my sons skated during the night?” 

“On underground rink, with jewelled trees all around,” Evgeni replied, displaying the branch. He went on to relate the man he had seen, and the curse, “and, well, I am hockey player, you know?”

“I see,” King Mario said, and called in the princes, who had to admit that the story was true. “In that case, Evgeni, which prince would you like to wed?”

“I choose Sidney,” Geno said, smiling, “if he not mind, of course.”

“I don’t mind, but why me? Tanger is much more attractive than I am, Phil is funnier, Muzz is elite -”

“Sid, you are best. Best skater, best player, best smile…” Geno said, watching him turn pink. “Also, best booty,” he continued, and Sid’s blush deepened dramatically.

The two of them were wed that very day, and when they kissed, Sid pulled back and said, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Evgeni asked him, worried that Sidney might regret this, might have been pretending so as to keep his brothers from having to marry him instead. 

But Sid just smiled, and looked up at him with shining eyes, and said, “I felt it break.”

Evgeni kissed him again, just to be sure, and they lived happily and well.

And the commissioner was cursed to suffer for as many days as he had cursed the princes.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Could I have refrained from punching y'all in the feelings with Flower? Not a chance.  
> \- I never understood why the princesses kept going. What was so great about the whole underground shindig that you'd give up sleeping every night, and doom countless people to their deaths for trying to help you? Hence, a curse.


End file.
